Tutor
by BewareMySpork
Summary: Puckleberry, Puckcentric. T for bad words. One-shot. Drabble.


Noah sighed as he rested his forehead against the cool beige wall of the hallway, trying in vain to ignore the tiny teacher yelling at him by his elbow. He honestly did not give a flying fuck what she was yelling about, and she should be getting a clue by now that he wasn't. She'd been yelling at him for at least an hour. He had banked on her getting hoarse and giving up like his mother does when she gets pissed at him, but she hadn't yet. She must've had more practice than his mother. He smiled and chuckled low in his throat at the thought, which in hindsight he decided he _probably _should not have done.

"Puckerman!" Ow. Wow. She actually had shrieked that. In his ear. He wouldn't doubt it for one second if someone had said his ear was bleeding. Fucking bat teacher. He rubbed at his ear to make sure it wasn't bleeding as he finally turned to her, a frown on his face. "Seriously, Mrs. Peterson. I'm not paying attention. What do you want?" He'd read in books and shit when he was younger about people supposedly swelling up when they were really mad, but he hadn't believed it. Well, until now, that is.

"Noah Puckerman, you have failed three tests. The last one you didn't even try to answer any questions!" He raised an eyebrow, honestly shocked that she was yelling at him about this. He didn't do any tests, and hell, teachers were flattered when he even tried to answer one or two questions. "I will not stand for this! So, in order to save my behind-" seriously, who says 'behind' anymore? "-my behind, I am going to have the topmost student in our class tutor you." He shrugged. It'd be all good. He'd get some loser kid to give him the answers. It would be all good. He'd done it before. It's why he worked out so hard; besides bagging cougars, of course.

"Oh, Mrs. Peterson, I'm glad you are here. I'm sorry I'm late, I had a malfunction with my locker." Oh god. Oh go oh god oh god. Please no. God no.

"Ah, Rachel, it's so good to see you." You old fucking bat, you motherfu- "Noah, here, has been having some… trouble with English. I refuse to tolerate this, so I expect you to whip him into shape." Noah bristled, eyebrows raising high above his brow. Fuck no if some chick with a better-than-thou attitude 'whips me into shape'. Mile long legs or not.  
…Okay, let her try, then. The whip part sounds cool.

"Oh… of course, Mrs. Peterson." He smirked, pleased with the hesitancy in her voice. It felt great to not have her sound confident about something. Confidence is pretty hot and all, sometimes, but seriously. Moderation, you know?

"Thank you, thank you. Now, I must be off. Take care!" Puck turned and leaned his forehead against the wall again, hoping beyond hope that that old hag would slip and break her hip. Or something. He closed his eyes and set his jaw, aware of a soft shuffling of feet somewhere by his arm.

"N-Noah…" He didn't say anything, just grunted. He was annoyed with her already. "A-are you busy? I mean, I'm available for tutoring most days of the week. I doubt it would affect my schedule." He rolled his eyes. They both knew there was no schedule. Unless it was something like '3:00 – Get Home. 3:01-12:30 Wait By Phone For Phonecalls That Never Come.'

… Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. But only just a little.

Rachel cleared her throat, embarrassed now. "So, anyway… If you're free right now, we could go to my house. W-we could start now, and be finished with tutoring now. N-no one has to know or anything." Ouch. Jeez. He winced, and turned to her shrugging. She didn't have to make him feel bad. Wasn't his fault she was a loser.  
Well, maybe it was. Not totally his fault though.

It must have been a mutual, silent agreement between them to take his truck, because that's where he was headed, and she followed along. It struck him as weird that she didn't have a car, considering what she wore look expensive, but whatever. Not his problem.  
She quietly gave him directions to her house, which wasn't too far away by his reckoning. Good. Save him some gas money. The radio stayed off during the ride, which was good. Would've been too much for him if she turned on some Britney Spears shit or whatever she listened to. Or Wicked, whatever. Or, fuck, he didn't know. Whatever show tunes she listened to that might be on the radio.

He pulled into the driveway after a comfortably short drive and jumped out of his truck, slamming the door shut and walking up to her door. He leaned against the frame, eyeing the white paint on the outside of her house distastefully. Seriously, it would probably be all beige and shit in her house. And white houses are not supposed to be that clean. Maybe Pillsbury comes here to get her jollies on when Schue doesn't react to her advances.  
Gross, too far.

Rachel walks around the door, finally, with an irritated look on her face spouting off something about height-challenging trucks and a lawsuit or something. Noah grabbed her hands and flipped them over, palm up, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He raises an eyebrow. No scratches. He lifts her skirt to check her knees from his height, despite her shrieks and babbles and blush. No scratches there, but hell, he enjoys the view. He says so.

Still blushing, she turns to the door. "Thank you, Noah, but now it's time to tutor." A smile lights up her face, and he groans. Berry must be fucking bi-polar or some shit. Seriously. She does the same thing in glee, minus tutoring and attempted lawsuits, plus music. He follows her in without waiting for her to turn around and kicks the door shut, which irritates her. He smirks.

Huffing, she tosses her hair around dramatically, slips off her shoes, and walks into the living room. After telling him to remove his shoes eight times before he does, she waits patiently for him to walk to where she is, and smiles at him as he drops to the floor, sulking.

She teaches him some bullshit he doesn't need to know, something about nouns and verbals and some other shit he doesn't pay attention to. He just lets her write it all down on note cards, and he accepted them with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. But hey, he can use these for the next test. Mrs. Puckhater be damned.

After a couple of hours of some decent time together with her, and some pretty good sugar cookies later, she smiles. "You're actually pretty smart, Noah." He grunts, shrugging. "You know this stuff pretty well." She hesitates, and he smirks, feeling pretty flattered, "I don't really think you'd need any more tutoring after this." He tries to ignore the disappointment in her voice, but he can't. He hears it pretty loud and clear. "Let's try a spelling test, and then you can go." He nods. He wants to go. He doesn't want to stay.

That much.

She leaves for a moment and comes back with a pencil and paper, then hands him a book to write on while she opens a dictionary. She begins reading off words and he half pays attention, writing down words when they sound right. Maybe once or twice he used a tip she said to use earlier. Maybe.

He hands her the paper when he's done, and watches her look over it for a moment, his eyes gliding down her body before he pulls his gaze away and glances about the house. He was right, it was beige everywhere. It was too weird. But cool, too. In a weird way.

She begins giggling and he looks over, automatically going on the defense when he sees her hand over her mouth as she's looking at the paper. "What?" He asks angrily, frowning as he shifts his weight. She smiles apologetically, and hands him the paper. "You did fine on them, except for 'magnificent.' I have never seen anyone spell it wrong like you." He's not quite sure if it's an insult or a compliment, but he takes it as both. He frowns, and looks at the paper. "M-A-G-N-E-P-H-A-S-E-N-T?" She nods, giggling. "It's M-A-G-N-I-F-I-C-E-N-T." He flushes. Actually flushes. It's a totally natural, manly reaction. But he's angry too. He can't take criticism too well. Especially for Berry.

"Fuck this." He stands up and turns his back on her, ignoring the sounds of her scrambling to her feet and her stuttered apologies. He slips his shoes on and storms out of her house, jumps into his car, and drives home, ignoring the shoulder-slumped silhouette in the doorway of the Berry's house.

A couple hours pass, and he has to admit, he was being a douchebag. He frowns, tossing his phone in the air and letting it bounce next to him on the bed. He's been contemplating texting her an apology, but he doesn't say sorry.

Ever.  
Well, not to Finn.  
Or Teachers.  
Or his sister.  
Or anyone except Berry.  
Well, maybe his mom. But that's his mom, come on.

He sits up, and decides to text her. But only because he acted rashly. Oh god, now he's starting to sound like her. After only a couple of hours alone. Wow. That sucks. He sighs, flips his phone opens, and starts to text her.

'hey berry sorry. maybe u can help me learn how to spell better, like, friday, or something. idk you tell me"

It takes her so long to text back, he's about to set his phone down and go to bed when it chimes and it's a text from her.

'Sounds magnephasent.'

He smirks. He can't wait til Friday, now.


End file.
